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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533538">Misconceptions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric'>ruric</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Actor RPF, Kane (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Community: fic_promptly, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2010-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2010-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:48:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for maab_connor's 2010 prompt: Kane RPS, Chris/Steve, the sound of rabid fangirls always gets him going</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Carlson/Christian Kane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>fic_promptly Fills 2010</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Misconceptions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for maab_connor's 2010 prompt: Kane RPS, Chris/Steve, the sound of rabid fangirls always gets him going</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hot lights in his eyes blind him to anything but the first two rows of the crowd pressed up against the stage and they look just as wrung out as he feels. His shirt is clinging damply to his skin, sticking between his shoulder blades and in the small of his back and he can feel the dampness under his arms.</p>
<p>There's not a breath of air in the place and somewhere out back Eric's probably having kittens 'cause the stage is only a foot above the floor and all it would take would be a push from the back and half a dozen girls would be sprawling at his feet.</p>
<p>He almost laughs at that idea as one of the girls wobbles a bit, puts a hand out on top of the amp, regains her balance, shoots an apologetic glance up at him and juggles her camera just in time to catch him grinning down at her.</p>
<p>The flash of the camera's enough to blind him but he's used to it by now and he blinks through the white out until the spots swim away and his vision comes back into focus.</p>
<p>There's barely enough room on the stage for him and Steve and their gear and god alone knows if he takes a step backwards he's likely to end up in Steve's lap. He can only imagine the howls of approval that'd get and he's grinning wider as they swing down into the last chorus of The House Rules and the crowd take him at his word dancing and singing along until the last chords die away and then the noise erupts again.</p>
<p>He takes moment to catch his breath, bends down to grab his beer and takes a swig from bottle. He hears his name and looks up to find two hands shoving forward, with a shot of Jack in each for him and Steve. </p>
<p>He makes eye contact, mouths thanks and sees her shake her head.</p>
<p>She leans forward, balance a little precarious and he ducks down to get his ear closer to her mouth.</p>
<p>"Not from me," she yells over the noise of the crowd, "they're from her." One hand free of the Jack she points over her shoulder to the blonde behind her.</p>
<p>He passes a glass to Steve, takes the second one and raises it in a toast to their nameless benefactor, knowing that Steve's doing the same because they're always in sync for this. The crowd go wild and he makes a note of what she looks like so he can catch her and say thanks after the show.</p>
<p>His voice is raw and it's not just from the Jack - five gigs in seven days and he's just not used to it.</p>
<p>Steve catches his eye, fingers sliding over the strings and they're off into the last number for the night and then it'll be time to work the crowd. </p>
<p>They finish the last number and the chords don't even have a chance to die away before the wave of sound rolls from the back of the room forward, bouncing off the walls, as if its only way out is towards the stage and over them but there's nowhere for it to go. </p>
<p>Piercing wolf whistles, clapping hands, boots stomping into the floor and yells and screams from a hundred throats all merge into a wall of noise which batters at them like a physical blow. </p>
<p>The girls in the front are soaked to the skin, cotton and silk clinging to bodies outlining the soft curve of a breast or hip. It doesn't help that a few of them have drinks in their hands, pressing cool glass to warm skin in search of some relief from the heat and he swallows hard watching moisture trail from a glass onto the reddened skin beneath. </p>
<p>You'd have to be inhuman not to notice and he's never pretended to be anything other than what he is. He catches a few grins and winks and the thoughts in their heads are written plainly on their faces but he's not one to ruin those misconceptions.</p>
<p>He can smell the oestrogen on the air, practically taste it, sweet and warm and a little musky. He knows there are girls here young enough to be his daughter and women old enough to be his mother, but he never calls them anything but girls because it would seem a little...disrespectful.</p>
<p>He turns to follow Steve, stumbling off the side of the stage into a tiny green room barely big enough to hold the two of them and he knows they only have a couple of minutes before Eric comes through the door.</p>
<p>Steve slides his guitar into case and turns around, his eyes sparkling and Chris knows when he's been laughed at. </p>
<p>"What?" </p>
<p>His voice is whiskey soaked and hoarse but he's not beyond using any weapon at his disposal. </p>
<p>Steve blinks at him, long and slow his breath ghosting along Chris's jaw as he leans in, hand curving round his hip before moving to press over the hardness of Chris's dick.</p>
<p>"Need a hand there?"</p>
<p>He can hear the laughter threaded through the words and he rocks into Steve's palm, his hands curving round Steve's hips and pulling him in close.</p>
<p>"Shut the fuck up."</p>
<p>He tangles his fingers in Steve's hair, drags him close and bites into his mouth, the kiss both a promise and a threat for later but Steve always gives as good as he gets. They're both panting, Steve's pupils blown wide and wild, when they break apart at the knock on the door.</p>
<p>Eric opens it slowly, sticks his head around and barely raises an eyebrow at the sight of them.</p>
<p>"You two ready?"</p>
<p>It's time for the second part of the night to begin. </p>
<p>The shaking hands, kissing cheeks, hugging and posing for photos and signing anything they offer him. He doesn't begrudge a moment of it. He'll never really be an album artist, he lives and breathes for performing live and giving a little back after a gig is, he feels, the least he can do. </p>
<p>It's nice to be wanted and if some of them get a little handsy he can deal. </p>
<p>The tortuous part of the evening is watching Steve work the crowd when all he wants to do is get Steve naked and burn out of his mind the idea that anyone else has touched him in the last two hours.</p>
<p>He groans and turns away from Steve's grin, still half hard and aching, but the hand in the small of his back, the whispered "Later" in his ear will have to be enough until they get back to their hotel. </p>
<p>Then he can peel Steve out of his clothes and show him that while this may get him going the only place he really wants to be is buried deep inside Steve showing him with body and hands and tongue everything they never manage to say to one another.</p>
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